#(And found out I used a different shade of gray for Regret and Butler)

[tatzebea]

Doodling Anaxagoras in Faust IDs, till he releases

Day 8: Blade Lineage Salsu

[alienahellsparkle]

❦ List fandoms of my heart: №3 (the last).

✯ Kuroshitsuji (Dark Butler)

This anime is my guide to the world of anime, my first of all, and the first that I liked. In addition, I have been watching it since I was 13 (omg, how old I am..).

I can say, from it I learned what anime is. It is one of my favorites and one of those that I can revisit (P.S .: And I'm still waiting for the new season or new full-length films, although no one said anything or promised anything about it).

The advantages of this anime are - interesting plots, 19th century setting mixed with the supernatural, soundtracks and a huge number of different characters for every taste. As I can tell, everyone will find their ideal 2D kun or chan here.

I could single out a lot of cool characters, but I'm afraid they could be spoilers too, so I'll just mention a few of my personal favorites.

Sebastian is a demon butler and another protagonist besides Ciel. A jack of all trades, a cool killer and one of the most real handsome men who stole many hearts from the female audience, who is in many similar tops and sometimes even has leading positions. I can say that he was my very first anime - love.

Prince Soma is an Indian prince. I don't know how many fans he has, but I think not as many as Sebastian and Ciel. Actually, Soma is the one who attracted me much more and my love for Sebastian did not last forever. This is because Soma, in addition to being beautiful and Indian (which was important to me as a lover of Bollywood films and music, and also interested in Indian culture), has a sweet and good personality. Three combos!

Madame Red is a bright woman with a difficult fate. I guess there isn't much more to say here (spoilers, spoilers, damn it).

Pluto is a devilish dog. Cutie, charming, with one cool ability and mine another anime-love (those who know this character and his unusual ability - yes - yes, I know it's weird to fall in love with characters like him).

As I said, the soundtracks are wonderful - some of the tunes have some classic notes in them, and also, the opening can be recognized from a thousand and it is easy to remember which anime it belongs to.

Also, there are elements of detective and crime, which also adds its own special shades and makes this anime even more interesting and aesthetically pleasing.

I look forward to continuing with it and begin to show interest in anime of a similar genre and setting in one (I found something similar, for example, as "House of Shadows").

✯ Dame x Prince 

Another anime that became my find and I can watch it many times. I liked it so much that after I found it (in 2018 it was a spring novelty), I watched almost all the episodes in one gulp and only later realized that it ends too quickly, because I could not stop in time.

This anime contains everything that I love about the reverse - harems - beautiful drawing, bright colors, romance, elements of comedy and fantasy, attractive male characters and not a stupid main character who can be respected.

We can say that Ani is one of the few normal owners of a harem, but she can be considered a diamond among them. She is encouraged by her courage and the fact that she is not embarrassed when guys compliment her or try to flirt (I could say more about her, but these will be spoilers).

Despite the fact that here the male characters are clichéd, for example - a kind cutie, handsome womanizer, narcissistic rude and so on, they look cool and interesting to watch, it's a pity that we will never know which of them Ani chose in the end.

In addition, there is one more plus in the form of a good plot, after which it helps some characters to reveal themselves.

Even if many people do not always take girly harem animes well and consider them worthless and empty, just to please teenage girls with cute romance in a colorful wrapper, this anime genre also deserves a place to be. Who knows, maybe soon the reverse - harems will evolve even more, at least there are already some anime-worthy options. Everything has its fans..

In general, this is a good and positive anime that can bring more colors to life. And I still hope for season 2.. 

✯ Nanbaka

When you watch a video on the topic: "Guess the gender of anime characters", you will not think that in this way you will be able to discover a new anime. That's how I found out about Nanbaka, after which I watched the first season in a couple of days.

I associate this anime with the beginning of July 2018 and the dairy drinks Twix, Milky Way and Snickers, which at that time I was finally able to taste.

Nanbaka has several advantages - a cool variety of characters, an element of comedy, and an equally vibrant color scheme. Also, I noticed that all characters have their own special difference - they all have nails painted in a different color and have small fangs.

Despite the fact that there is no romance here and the plot is built around a prison theme, Nanbaka is quite interesting to watch, and in some episodes there are elements of drama and seriousness. However, if the first season is more comical situations, then the second season is a little more serious, at least there are more problems that the heroes solve.

Of the characters, there are not only bisonens and heroes with simple qualities including kindness, cuteness, foolishness, signs of a womanizer, hot temper and severity, but there are also unexpected specimens, such as several LGBTQ characters and even antagonists.

Unfortunately, Nanbaka is not a very popular fandom and most likely there will never be a third season... But this is another solid anime that can be endlessly watched and is one of those that drags on from the first episodes.

✯ Romance Club

This visual novel often came across to me in YouTube recommendations, in the form of walkthroughs and analysis of Easter eggs from it.

At first, I was not very interested in this, and from the video, my first impression was that this is just an incomprehensible game with characters similar to cardboard figures, but for some reason it became very popular and discussed on social networks.

After some time, I still began to watch the walkthroughs and more or less began to understand what the whole highlight of the game is, and after that, I began to play myself, though at the beginning, then, I had only a plan to while away the rest of summer time until autumn, but I didn’t notice how I began to be drawn into the RC and it became not just a game for one time, it became a habit that is difficult to get rid of.

Now, it's not just a bunch of pretty cardboard character figurines and a joke that RC is a mix of films like "50 Shades of Gray" and "Twilight", made for teenage girls.

Romance Club is - characters for every taste, from whites and Europeans, to Hispanics and Asians, both boys and girls. LGBTQ relationships have not been forgotten here either.

Various stories with any setting - vampires + werewolves, pirates, aliens, 19th-18th century, royal setting, movie stars and fame, Scandinavian mythology, ancient Greek mythology, sea and beach setting, detectives and crime, ancient Japan (geisha and samurai) , angels and demons, everyday life and much more, but the creators continue to delight us with new stories to this day, and I think we still have a lot to see.

Beautiful graphics and drawing of characters, cool design of clothes, and also, here you can learn how to beautifully compose texts and sentences (let's say this can be useful for the writing sphere), since some stories contain wonderful descriptions of some scenes and comparisons of concepts (example. "Stars as luminous points," and the like).

But besides romance, other important topics can be revealed here, such as the concept of friendship, a hard life due to many problems, courage and self-confidence, and sometimes even 18+ topics can be touched upon. In addition, some stories have instructive facts, for example, something about the history of Turkey during the Ottoman Empire. 

Romance Club is scientifically enlightening!

Despite the fact that I refused to play games, since they take a lot of time, during which you can do a bunch of other useful things, RC is the only game (besides the Sims) on which I do not regret wasting my time and it is always interesting to watch new stories and how the old ones will end.

(P.S.: 

here is part 1 https://lenahellsparkle.tumblr.com/post/650656683336548352/list-fandoms-of-my-heart-1

part 2 https://lenahellsparkle.tumblr.com/post/655103141583470593/list-fandoms-of-my-heart-2)

[seeroftodayandtomorrow]

A Musical Affair

Rating: M

Summary:  Blaine's life has been shaped by scandal. Now his livelihood and, it sometimes seems, his sanity depend on him being as inconspicuous as possible. But a group of unusual friends cause his resolve to totter, and a beautiful singer might shatter it completely.

Historical AU

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Blaine's life changed, quite literally, with a bang.

It was the noise his father's pistol made when it went off, leaving his father lying crumbled on the floor of his study, the pistol still clutched in his lifeless hand.

The maid who found him kept her head, and quietly alerted the butler, who in turn alerted the lady of the house, Blaine's mother, and after that, the authorities.

The policeman who arrived was rather more flustered than such an obvious suicide seemed to justify, while Lady Dalton seemed unusually calm for the occasion. She glanced once at her husband's body and then retreated to her own study to write a note to her modiste, ordering mourning clothes, and then a letter to her son, ordering him home from school.

By the time Blaine arrived, things had cleared up a little, and the reasons for his father's suicide were slowly coming to light. He had not been prone to depression, instead being in the lucky condition of always considering himself in the right and everyone else inherently inferior. His wealth and position in life had confirmed him in that opinion. For him to take his own life would have been unimaginable only a week ago. Yet there he was, laid out in his bedroom, awaiting his funeral that a generous sum given to the vicar ensured would be inside the graveyard instead of outside its walls, despite the blasphemous nature of his death.

In the end, his suicide was labeled as “doing the honorable thing”. It meant that what he had done was too bad to live with it—or not exactly bad, because surely a peer of the realm was above such behavior—but unworthy enough that only death could atone for it, and that seeking it for himself was acting honorably. To Blaine, it mostly meant that he acted like a coward, leaving his family to deal with the repercussions by themselves.

Or, as it turned out, his families.

“What do you mean, you are not his wife?” he could not help interrupting when his mother and their family solicitor sat him down in the library to explain the situation.

“It turns out your father was a bigamist,” Blaine's mother said bitterly, turning her head away. “And to think I always hesitated to leave him, because of the scandal....”

Blaine turned helplessly towards the solicitor, hoping for him to explain the situation.

The solicitor actually blushed. “It appears that the late Lord Dalton was already married when he wed your honored mother. He managed to hide the marriage, which he seemed to regret after a very short time, but that doesn't change that this lady, not your mother, was—she is recently deceased—the real countess.”

“But -”

“No but. I am not and have never been a countess. And you, dear Blaine, are not an earl.”

“But I am my father's son,” Blaine protested, although he silently wondered if another surprise was coming his way in that regard. The coldness of his parents' marriage had been no secret. But no, he looked like his father too much for there to be any doubt about his parentage.

“Illegitimate son, since your parents were not actually married,” the solicitor said. “In addition to that, your father's marriage to his lady was blessed with offspring.”

“I have siblings?” Blaine's elder brother Cooper had died when Blaine was still a toddler. He hardly remembered him, but had always wished for a brother.

“You have an older half-brother. He is the new Lord Dalton. He also wishes no contact with you or your mother, but instead is eager to claim his inheritance.”

Blaine's excitement that had barely dared lift its head died again. He swallowed. “So what about us?”

“We move in with my mother,” his mother said, “and live out our days in genteel poverty.”

It was not poverty, not even genteel. Blaine only had an inkling about what real poverty looked like—he had been advised to avoid certain regions of the city if he wanted his purse and his body intact—but it wasn't this. His grandmother lived in a spacious town house that was close enough to Mayfair to be almost fashionable, with enough staff to make them comfortable, and an excellent cook.

But that didn't mean there were no differences to his old life. His valet was given notice and replaced with the occasional services of his grandmother's footman. He was taken out of school completely, the fees being too high to let him complete even his last year. He was given the choice between a different, cheaper school, and staying home with his mother and grandmother and thinking about maybe finding some sort of work. His mother gasped at that word, but Blaine knew he was educated enough to make him eligible for work as a clerk or some such, and he wasn't entirely opposed to the idea.

He chose to stay home, to give himself the opportunity to get used to his new situation as much as to avoid being the subject of gossip by his classmates.

But there was no avoiding being the subject of gossip by society in general.

Everything happened very fast after that talk in the library. Blaine and his mother packed their things and moved in with Blaine's grandmother, who graciously, as she explained, opened her home to them on the condition that they, on their part, accept a few conditions of their own.

“I have been the cause of scandal once,” she declared. “Now you have been as well, through no fault of your own, but that is it. Not even the shadow of any new scandal will taint this house or any that live in it.”

Blaine, he often thought, took the restrictions on his behavior with more ease then his mother. Declaring herself too young still to be a matron, she longed to be the belle of the ball again, reliving that one season she had danced through before being married off—or so everyone thought—to the older, sedate and as it turned out, ill-tempered, neglectful and deceitful Earl of Dalton.

Almost from the first day of their stay, she began arguing with Grandmother.

“What does it matter if I cause any more scandal? They can hardly gossip any more than they already do! What scandal could possibly surpass a case of bigamy?”

But since Grandmama held the purse strings, Mother was forced to relent and accept the more appropriate diversions she was allowed, and to make the most of them.

“There is one good thing about all this mess after all,” she said, not being one to dwell on the negative, “I don't have to wear black.”

While Mother reworked her gowns in the most colorful and fanciful way she could while still adhering to Grandmama's idea of good taste, Blaine quietly and regretfully banned his patterned waistcoats with their mother-of-pearl buttons to the back of his closet. He felt that the sedately striped ones in various shades of gray were more fitting for his own desire to be noticed as little as possible.

But of course, even the most inconspicuous waistcoat was no use against gossip. Mother was right: they were a source of scandal, and until the next came along and diverted society's attention, they would be stared at and talked about wherever they went.

Blaine stood against a wall, to his one side an ornate column, to his other a decorative plant. He was balancing a saucer and cup of tea in one hand, but the tea had long since grown cold, as he had only accepted it in order to have something to do with his hands.

He was chaperoning, as Grandmama had called it, his mother to a musical soiree. For his mother, it was much needed society, talk and flirting; for Blaine, it was...well. He was aware that a musical soiree was an opportunity for the young ladies to exhibit their talents and accomplishments, and for the gentlemen, it was an opportunity to admire them and maybe even dare propose the occasional duet. In short, it meant that Grandmama had not given up hope that despite being merely the illegitimate son of a disgraced earl, he might make an eligible match.

Blaine did not share that hope. In fact, not being required to marry might be the one good thing to come out of this mess. Having had only his parents' marriage—or what passed as a marriage—as an example, he did not think sharing his life with someone in that way was a good idea.

Although he had heard his grandparents' marriage had been loving and happy and that his grandfather had never rued the day he had almost made himself an outcast in polite society when he brought home his bride from the Philippines after the British Invasion.

He wouldn't mind the companionship a good marriage would bring, but he somehow didn't expect to make a good marriage.

In the meantime, being forced to attend these soirees and parties was little short of torture. They were stared at and whispered about at every turn, conversations would suddenly and awkwardly cease when he came into the vicinity of any group of people, and every greeting, or so he imagined, was followed by the whispered question of, “Isn't that the one who...?”

Mother mostly enjoyed the attention. But then, she was the wronged woman, the betrayed bride, and still young and beautiful enough to attract the right kind of sympathy.

Blaine was...merely a side effect, his very existence the result of deception. There were, he thought, still people who might think that being conceived in such a way would influence his character.

And so he leaned against the wall, seeking to disappear between the column and the plant until the blessed hour when they would finally be able to leave.

He winced at a sharp note from the girl currently singing.

“Terrible, isn't it?” a low voice came from the plant. A young lady, scarcely taller than the plant and in a dress in a similar color, that, Blaine thought, any self-respecting maid would never let her mistress leave the house in, glanced towards the group assembled around the piano and then back at him.

He recognized her, of course. Anyone who was anyone would. Rachel St. James, obscenely rich heiress who wore her married name that suggested the King's court with an attitude that seemed to regard this proximity to royalty as a birthright. She and her husband were so rich and had made themselves such an integral part of society that people all but overlooked Rachel's Jewish background and the fact that her father had made his fortune as a merchant.

By her next words, it was obvious she had recognized him as well. “How do I address you now that you're not Lord Dalton anymore?”

“Um...Blaine Anderson will do at the moment. My mother's maiden name. My grandfather was a baronet, but it's yet to be decided if I am allowed to bear his title.”

“Well, Mr. Anderson, I know and understand that you're unhappy to be here. Who wouldn't be, with these performances? But don't you dare leave. I'm singing later tonight, and you don't want to miss that.”

Then she was gone, mingling with the guests in her awful green dress, diminutive in stature but still standing out. Leaving him leaning against his wall, sipping his cold tea.

He would have risked her wrath by leaving early, had only his mother shown any inclination to do so. But she was sitting on an overstuffed chaiselongue in the back of the room, a glass of wine in her hand, and various men offering her sweetmeats on trays, competing for a glance from her eyes or a smile from her lips. Or so Blaine imagined. He wouldn't go back there for the world, not even to escape the newest singer.

Later tonight didn't arrive fast enough. He leaned against the wall, managed to avoid being talked to but not being stared at. Twice, he left his hiding place, once to use the gentlemen's room and once to acquire a second cup of tea, since he had somehow drained the first after all. He listened to the singers and the pianists, bad ones and good, and watched the people wander around the room, talking above the music.

Then, finally, the last performance of the evening was announced. The lady in question didn't need to put herself forward in order to find a husband anymore. She sang purely from love of the music—and, Blaine suspected, from a love of putting herself forward.

She was also very talented. It made Blaine actually glad he had stayed that long, and he closed his eyes to shut out the awful green dress and just listened to the music.

Afterwards, as the guests slowly began to search for their coats and shawls and head towards the entry, Rachel came up to him.

“Well, aren't you glad you stayed?” she asked, not at all shy in demanding the compliments her due.

“I am,” Blaine said and couldn't help but smile. “You have an amazing voice.”

“Since you obviously have good taste, I want to give you this.”

She handed him a small, surprisingly tasteful calling card; it stated that Lady St. James was “at home” on Wednesday morning.

“Only for a small group of very special friends,” she said. “Do come.”

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace

I’m going to regret this, but this is the sequel to Natalie Jones and the Stone Knight.  The Committee for the Appraisal of Archaeological Peril are given their first proper job - looking after a possibly-cursed mummy.  As it turns out, though, the three-thousand-year-old corpse of Princess Sitamun is going to be the least of their problems...

It was a rainy day in September when the committee for the Appraisal of Archaeological Peril met for the second time at Buckingham Palace.

It was a very informal meeting, but then, their first official gathering, two months earlier, had been pretty informal, too.  They were an ad hoc department, with no regalia, no buildings, no documents, and no particular qualifications for membership other than having been at the Battle of the Tower and the Queen liking you.  There’d been some hints that this new meeting would resolve at least some of these deficiencies, but Natasha Romanov – who for the past few years had been calling herself Natalie Jones and saw no reason to stop now – hoped not too many.  The last thing she wanted was to be part of the pomp and bombast of proper British government.

A valet took her car at the end of the Mall, and two guards escorted her through the sea of tourists’ umbrellas and opened the gate for her.  There, she was just in time to meet a second member of the Committee – Dr. Sam Wilson, their medical expert.  He grinned and waved to her.

“Natalie!” he said.  “How’ve you been?”

“Not bad!”  Nat gave him a quick hug, and then both, with the guards, hurried across the sprawling pavement towards the palace steps.  “I’m still working in the archaeology department at Dundee,” she told him, raising her voice as thunder rumbled overhead.  “I’ve noticed my students are much more polite this year!” Her deeds at the Battle of the Tower, and her past as a Soviet spy, had been international news that summer.

Once on the palace porch the rain could no longer reach them.  Nat took down the hood of her jacket, and Sam pulled his hat off.

“What are you up to?” she asked, as the doormen let them inside.

“I’m working at Raptor Rescue near Eccleshall,” he replied.

“Good for you,” Nat nodded.  “Do the birds complain?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” said Sam.  “I thought people were whiny, but no – and the bigger the bird, the more of a baby they are.  There was this Golden Eagle, we named her Margo, who swore up and down that she was dying when all she had was an infected talon.  We amputated the toe and gave her some antibiotics, and she’s back in the wild now.”

“That’s wonderful,” Nat said, smiling warmly as she gave her wet jacket to a butler.  She would be the first to admit that her sense of empathy was badly stunted, but even to her there was something heartwarming about Sam not only getting to talk to birds like Sir Sigurd in the fairy tale, but finding a useful application for it.

The butler took their jackets away, and another man in a uniform entered the red-carpeted foyer.  “Sir Samuel? Lady Natalie?” he asked, startling two people who were more used to being addressed as ‘Doctor’.  “Her Majesty is waiting for you.  If you would come with me, please.”

They climbed a flight of stairs with an ornate, scrolling gilded railing, and followed a hallway lined with mirrors and elaborate candelabras.  Halfway down this they stopped outside a set of carved wooden doors, where three more Committee members were waiting.

These were good friends as far as Natasha and Sam were concerned, and there were more hugs and handshakes as everybody exchanged greetings.  Detective Inspector Sharon Carter was still working for the police in Inverness.  Sir Stephen of Rogsey spent most of his time there, too, in order to be close to Sharon while he took online courses to catch up on the science and history he’d missed while being turned to stone for a thousand years.  The third individual with them was a man in his sixties, short and a little overweight, with blue eyes and shaggy graying hair.   He smiled and raised a hand to greet Natasha first.

“Hi, Ginger Snap!” he said.

“Hi, Dad!”  Nat went up to hug him, too – he held her tight, and lifted her slightly off her feet. “Sorry I haven’t been emailing. It’s been very busy since the school year started.”

“I bet it has,” said Allen Jones, setting her down again.  “I hear you’re giving a talk on the Grail legend at Yale next year.”

“Yeah.  Apparently I’m an expert on it now or something.”  Nat rolled her eyes – the real thing had turned out to be very different from the stories.  “I still need to figure out what I’m going to say… I’ll probably do all the research and throw something together the night before.  How’s Blackpool?”  Allen was working there as an electrician.

“Damp,” he said, “but it’s actually nice to be back to work.  Retirement was getting boring.”

Sam looked around at everybody gathered.  Someone was missing.  “Where’s Francis?” he asked.  The sixth member of the Committee was Clint Francis from Barton-in-Fabis in Nottinghamshire, a man who’d briefly believed himself to be Robin Hood.  The delusion hadn’t lasted long, but when he got his memory back he’d been able to retain the legendary outlaw’s skill at archery.

“He texted,” said Sharon.  “Apparently he missed the train he was supposed to take and had to get a cab, so he’ll be here, just late.”

“That sounds about right,” Nat nodded.

“Guess what?”  Sharon looped her arm through Sir Stephen’s and smiled proudly.  “Steve got a job!”

“Good for him!” said Allen.  “What’s he doing?”

“There is a chapel in the city of Inverness with a very fine stained glass window depicting the martyrdom of Saint Andrew the Apostle,” Sir Stephen explained. “The window was damaged by some godless vandals and since I am familiar with the painting of glass, the city has engaged me to repair it, using as much of the original glass as possible and painting the new pieces to match.”

“That’s perfect,” said Nat.  Before the Lady of the Lake had made him a warrior, Sir Stephen had wanted to be a painter.  Restoring medieval windows was ideal, and would keep the restless man from getting bored.

The carved door opened, and two security men in elegantly tailored suits emerged to check everybody’s identification one last time.  Once they were satisfied, the taller one opened the door wide to show them in.  “Right this way,” he said.  “Her Majesty the Queen and his Grace the Earl of Dudley are inside.”

Beyond the doors was an immense drawing room with turquoise rugs, filled with gilded furniture and hung with portraits of people in wigs and fancy coats, many of them larger than life-sized.  General Fury, the recently-created Earl of Dudley, was waiting just inside.  He greeted them with a smile.  Fury was the head of the CAAP, although he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to do anything in that capacity and appeared to have hoped he never would.  He had also made it known that he hated the idea of having a title, which was perhaps why he was dressed in his military uniform, with an eyepatch.

“What happened to the glass eye?” asked Sam.

“My granddaughters like the patch better,” Fury replied.  “Apparently it makes me look like a pirate.  It’ll get old eventually and they’ll start to miss me popping the glass eye out and back in again.”

“Down here!” called a voice from the far end of the room.

There, on an elaborately carved and brocaded Louis the Fifteenth sofa with many embroidered cushions, was the Queen of England.  It was only ten AM, but she already had a drink in her hand, and was watching somebody feed pieces of haggis to one of her corgis on the seat beside her. She was dressed in a shade of fuchsia that clashed violently with the turquoise carpeting, and made it difficult to look directly at her.  From what Nat knew of the Queen, she’d done this on purpose.

“Nice to see you all looking well,” said the Queen, as they gathered around her – standing, since even knights and ladies didn’t sit in the presence of the monarch without special permission.  “Sir Stephen, you’re looking as offensively attractive as ever.  Where’s the sixth guy?”

“He missed the train,” said Sam.  “He’s on his way.”

“Figures,” said the Queen.  She tossed back the rest of her drink and held out the glass for one of her servants to refill.  “Well, I’ve a lot to do today.  I’m opening a women’s centre in Vauxhall at lunchtime, and then I’m heading up to Suffolk to look for a stud.”

There was a pause.  The Queen waited for one of them to say something, but nobody dared.

“For my stables,” she finally added, disappointed.  “So let’s get down to business.  I’ve got a surprise for you!  Stop looming over me like bloody Stonehenge and I’ll show you.”

The six present members of the CAAP murmured thanks and arranged themselves on the sofas and ottomans around her.  The corgi regarded them with suspicious eyes, but was soon distracted by the haggis again.

“First of all,” the Queen said, “We got these.  Michaels, come here.”

One of the men in suits – evidently Mr. Michaels – stepped forward to hand out leather-bound booklets the size of passports.  The black covers were undecorated, but when Natasha opened hers she found a photograph of herself with her name and an identification number on one side, and on the other a gold badge with a stylized depiction of the White Tower behind the image of Sir Stephen’s magical shield, with supporters. Instead of the traditional British lion and unicorn, these were a gorilla and a sabre-toothed tiger, two of the sculptures that had come to life in the Tower grounds.  The whole thing was surrounded by a wreath of ivy, and at the bottom was a banner that said Committee for the Appraisal of Archaeological Peril.

“The College of Heralds finally came up with something I didn’t hate,” the Queen said, “so we are pleased to present you with badges.  Museums and archaeological sites across the country and our remaining overseas territories have instructions to let you in if you’ve got one of these.  Promise me you won’t use them to rob anyone.”

“I’ll give Mr. Francis his, if and when he shows up,” said Natasha, taking Clint’s badge too.  She looked over at Allen, who was smiling and shaking his head as he looked at his own. He’d ever imagined he’d have anything like it.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” said Fury formally.  He tucked his into his breast pocket.

“Second,” the Queen went on, “we’ve got your first proper assignment.”

That made everyone look up.  Exactly what the CAAP was supposed to do was a little uncertain.  The Holy Grail and Kracness Circle had been some very perilous archaeology, but nobody was sure what else might be in that category.

“As you may have read in the news,” said the Queen, “the Victoria and Albert is giving the sarcophagus of Princess Sitamun back to Egypt, mummy and all.  It’s some sort of gesture of reconciliation, or something like that, although as I understand it, it was the French who stole the damned thing.  It’s being put on a train next week to go to Cairo, where a Dr. Mostafa will take charge of moving it to their museum.  The folks in charge are a bit worried about the whole affair and have requested that you go along.”

“In case the mummy gets up?” asked Sharon.

“Seems so.”  The Queen shrugged.  “It’s a mummy – there’s probably six different curses on the moldy old bitch and they’re taking no chances.”

Nat looked around at the others.  Babysitting a corpse wasn’t exactly the sort of thing they’d had in mind when they agreed to be a part of this organization, but there were probably far worse things they could have been asked to do.

“So we just drop the mummy off in Egypt and then we come home?” she asked.

“You can sightsee a bit.  I won’t stop you,” said the Queen.  “But that’s all the museum folks want, is you tagging along just in case.”

“We can do that,” Sharon decided.

“Absolutely,” Natasha agreed.

“I always wanted to see the pyramids,” said Allen.

“Wonderful!” said the Queen.  “I’ll let them know and they can give you the departure information.  Now, does anybody want a drink before I run off?”

They turned down alcohol, since it was still early in the morning, but did allow the butler to serve them tea and coffee.  The Queen puttered off with her corgi trotting behind her, but Fury stayed a bit to chat – and ten minutes after her Majesty had left, Clint Francis arrived.  He was soaking wet and carrying a Starbucks cup in one hand, and panting as he was escorted in by two guards who were jogging to keep up with him.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.  “What did I miss?”

[ao3-writer]

Black & White; The Invitation

     Yo, so I’ve decided I will start this series and before anything else, I am going to state that my updates are most likely going to be random, but I will try and post a new chapter at least once a week. This will keep you guys on your toes and (hopefully) not bored. This is entirely told from the 3rd POV, but if you guys/gals would rather it be 1st person, I can do that too.

     Also, I will continued to answer asks and such every now and then, if you want to stick to the consistent updates of this series, I suggest you turn on notifs for me just in case. 

    Don’t forget to vote. I’ll set a limit of 72 to 120 hours (three to five days) from when the fic was originally posted. I’ll throw in a reminder and a time stamp at the end of each update too.

     If I messed up in some way or if something I wrote is alarming and such, don’t hesitate in telling me. I really want this to be a good experience for everyone that reads :)

     How long will the series take? I’m not sure. School’s starting back up again so I hope to finish this before/around October. Maybe. We’ll see. 

    That’s all I have to say on the matter. So, without further ado- Enjoy!

[Side Note: This’ll probably be the most boring chapter bc a lot of intro and such so bear with me on this one, Great.]

 The second the letter slid through their doors, they all felt goosebumps raise. Who even sent letters anymore besides the IRS? Nobody. Except grandparents. But do they ever write to their grandkids anymore?

 Jack was the first one to open his. He tore into it, the curiosity being a normal attribute of his that never stopped him. The actual letter had a red trim along the edge, shiny and fancy. The words were written in big, loopy cursive that could only be predated to that of a fancier age in history.

 Mark stared at his own card, almost startled by how clean it looked. Elegant, some would say. But... for what purpose? He couldn’t tell. The other nine invitees couldn’t figure it out either.

 It was simple. A little invitation to a “fun gathering” of some sort in what appeared to be a small estate upon looking at it, but once up close, it resembled a mansion. The walls pale and brown, the front steps a soft gray that could’ve resembled plastic but it was clay. The road into the estate was neatly paved, as if it was polished clean day in and day out. 

  “I’m sorry.” Mark interrupted the silence of the car ride. “Where exactly are we?”

 The chauffeur look into the rear-view mirror and glanced at Mark and Amy where they sat quietly. 

  “Or... not,” Mark mumbled quietly as he looked back out the tinted windows to see they had entered a set of gates. Multiple cars all came around a large fountain that stood in front of the mansion, the chauffeurs all exited and opened the doors unanimously, like clockwork. 

 Mutters of “thank you’s” and “goodbye” were what was left before the cars drove off in file. The ten invitees all stood at the foot of the steps that led to the great, white doors that awaited them. One by one, they all clambered up in fancy gowns and attires as they reached the doors. A small doorbell called to Mark’s name, he pressed down on it once. Seconds passed before the doors opened majestically to reveal decor that came from a fairytale.

 A sparkling chandelier hung above their heads at a great height, the diamonds and shards of glass that twinkled had them mesmerized. The floor was marble, intricate designs of the most wealthy of symbols and twirls were outlined in different shades of marble. Standing in the center stood a man with slightly tanned skin, almost caramel, his hair swiped to the side magnificently and a smile that reflected his bright white teeth.

  “Welcome. I’m glad you could arrive. How was the ride?” He asked, voice high and cheerful. This set off alarms in Ethan’s head. 

  A chorus of compliments came from the guests and the man spread open his arm, pointing toward an entrance toward what must be a dining room.

  “Right this way, folks.”

 Everyone mumbled and spoke amongst themselves. Their conversations hushed and confused.

 Eventually they found their way into a large room with a long dining table, some small appetizers placed along the narrow path, some people made their way to the table almost immediately.

  “Please, seat yourselves and dig in to what food is there. The main meal will be served in just a moment,” the man said, smile bright and friendly.

  “Is it just me or is this place kinda creepy?” Ethan mumbled to Amy. She shrugged as she popped a shrimp into her mouth.

  “I don’t know, but the food is good,” she said chewing another shrimp that she’s manged to take down. The rest of the guests are all familiar faces that he’s seen and met before. 

 There was Dan and Phil over to the right of him, analyzing the lettuce wraps as if they’d jump and bite them. There was Rosanna, from Nerdy Nummies, talking to Mathew and Stephanie from Game Theory. Signe and Jack were staring at the decorations on the walls behind them. Then Ethan, Amy and Mark hovered next to the dinner table as Amy and Mark ate the food. 

 Ethan had came for Tyler, he had gotten sick and couldn’t make it but gave his invitation happily to Ethan. Which, he now regretted considering he got chills all over the second he got into that car.

  “Please, take a seat. No need to stand and meddle. Let’s get to know each other, how about that?” The Kind-Man asked. Everyone took his advice, finding a seat and sitting down. “I’ll start. I am your host, my name is Lucas and I am newly engaged. I help run a catering business with the love of my life in town.”

 Everyone stares at him and he nods his head over to his right.

  “Oh, uh, my name’s Dan. I know all of you, thank God, and presumably we all do YouTube here? So let’s get that out of the way first. Secondly, I am single and ready to cry.”

 They each go down the table, one by one. Phil was nest, and they followed order until they reached Signe, who sat on Lucas’ left. By the time they finish introducing themselves, as if it wasn’t an everyday normality, a maid and a butler walk in from a swinging door, presumably to the kitchen with trays of food.

 And all of the food that was soon placed on the table was mouth watering. 

  “A toast,” Lucas said, raising his glass before everyone reached simultaneously for trays of food, “to a night of fun surprises and reckless memories.”

 Everyone raised their glass and cheered weakly, before taking a drink and setting them down to start eating. The food was even better than it looked. In just a few minutes, Ro stole half the cornbread and Jack was stuffing himself with all the sausage links on his end of the table. Lucas’ plate seemed almost empty with few contents on it while the rest seemed to have loaded theirs up.

 In the middle of chatter and witty banter, Signe excused herself to go touch up on makeup. She left the table and quietly walked off, asking the maid in the process where the restroom was.

 Down the hall and to the right, she entered, locking the door behind her. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing she had smudged some of her lipstick and her wing was starting to droop. She snatched a wipe from her clutch, wiping away the rest of her lipstick since they were eating after all. Tried to touch up her wing, scoffing as she did so when she wiped off too much. 

 She spent a good minute or two attempting to reapply it when she heard a knock.

  “Occupied!” She said, trying not too move too much as she came close to finishing. Another harsh knock and she sighed. “Just a minute! I’ll be out soon!”

 Once successfully saving her makeup dilemma, Signe closed her clutch and opened the door. 

  “Jaysus, someone’s impatie--” She began to mumble before being struck on the head. She groaned, hand on her temple where she was hit as she stumbled back into the bathroom. The figure followed her and closed the door behind them, locking it in the process.

 The chatter in the dining room continued, everyone carrying on their conversations happily as they ate, unaware of the sounds of Signe’s sudden despair. As the minutes ticked by and Jack grew lonely, he spoke over everyone else at the table.

  “Hey, can someone check up on Signe?” Jack asked, looking at everyone else. “She’s been gone for a while and I’m just worried she didn’t get lostin this big house.”

 Everyone exchanged glances, many of them silently begging not to leave the amazing food behind.

  “Sure,” Ethan replied after the conversations stopped.

  “No, I’ll go,” Dan said, “I need to use the loo anyway.” The two men stood up almost simultaneously, they stared down one another awkwardly before looking at Jack who suddenly felt the pressure.

 He didn’t understand why this felt like such a big decision. He’s sure Signe’s fine, but he’s just worried. What could he do?

V O T E :  Dan Howell or Ethan Nestor to find Signe

Voting Polls Close in 48 hours (2 days)

[So this is what the voting will end up being like. A scenario is given along with a question. You guys are given two to three options to vote for, do so in the comments/reblog. Don’t just like it. There’s the time limit before I close the polls.]